


Technically Whipped (lack of common sense)

by craple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Third Person, Peter is my favourite character ever okay don't judge, Pining, Pre-Slash, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Holy shit, did Stiles just put Derek up for <i>prostitution</i>?” Isaac squeaks as Peter promptly misses a step and nearly brains himself at the bottom of the stairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technically Whipped (lack of common sense)

**Author's Note:**

> i have so many free time and don't know what to do with it, so this happened. again. one of these days i'm going to create a great fic that doesn't involve boredom or alcohol, i promise.  
> anyway, this is _supposedly_ a short fic about peter's awesomeness in general, but then incubuses happened, and i can't get rid the idea of stiles prostituting derek for peace and derek agreeing with it because he's a hopeless case of romantic. i can make a longer case-fic out of this, i think, either from derek's point of view or stiles', depends on my mood.  
>  hope y'all enjoy this :)

Peter’s life consists of sad deprived teenagers, a lovely woman who might never agree to go on a date with him again (which is _such_ a shame, truly), and an emotionally constipated being of a nephew as his last living family member. He can’t say that he likes the life he has now, since it’s not living as much as it is running for his life every single day, but it’s much better than being dead. Or, you know, haunting a traumatised teenage girl who thinks she’s better than anyone – which she is – until she is his to get what he wants.

Anyway; as far as living goes, Peter thinks that this life he has now is good. Fine, for the lack of better word. After convincing Derek to buy a penthouse in lieu of sleeping under broken roof and creaky tiles, it is the closest thing to normal Peter has ever experienced, considering. They have proper fluffy bed to sleep on instead of the hard stinky mattress that always leaves him with stiff neck-muscle, proper meal three times a day instead of a pack of burritos or expired milk on good days, and the best of all, an actual _working_ television as Peter’s main source of entertainment.

Derek refused to buy the television at first, claiming it’s a waste of insurance money, and they should just take what they already have. It’s only after Peter pointing out that, by buying the television, it will at least get Peter off Derek’s back for a few hours while he tries to do whatever it is he does when Peter is not around to indirectly verbal-abused him. It doesn’t take much convincing, with such a valid reasonable agreement like that. It’s a win-win on both sides, and Peter is content.

The penthouse Derek bought is located at the very top of the building. Spacious and elegant, with large bullet-proof windows covering at least eighty percent of the wall, the apartment is the epitome of perfection. It is also sound-proof, which helps a lot during every full moon, when they can’t get out with the hunters around and shift and basically wreaking every kind of havoc around without anyone to disturb them. Sometimes Derek even joins him, when he’s in the mood, and they would manly sit beside each other ( _not_ cuddling, definitely _not_ ) or pawing each other snouts’ until it passes.

Every three days, Isaac checks in. The boy always brings three cups of coffee when he does, and Derek always sets up the frying pan while Peter rummages through the kitchen for extra-butter on Isaac’s toast. On good days, Derek makes pancakes or irons the waffles large enough for six people while on bad days, he doesn’t cook at all, which is a shame, because if there is one thing Derek’s good for, it’s making _great_ breakfast.

It also costs less than going to the cafe at the corner of the street, whose owner is Peter currently banging every Thursday, just to get a half price off everything Peter orders during said bad days. Not that he’s going to tell Derek _any_ of that. His nephew is damaged enough without Peter having to tell him of the people he sleeps with, and it’s not like Derek can’t smell it on him anyway. So Peter doesn’t.

Friday nights are sort of the visitation time for the pack – _‘visitation’_ because Derek is a killjoy and refuses to call it ‘pack meeting’ for the most ungodly reason to exist – where said teenagers are piling in for a movie night or free pizzas. Scott claims that he comes only for the pizza while Stiles keeps making porno noises at the sight of their sleek wide LCD on the wall and Lydia browsing through his laptop. Isaac, the adorable young werewolf he is, simply sits at the corner of the couch meekly. Eyeing whatever movie Stiles picks and asking questions in this cute confused tone it makes Peter wants to start banging his head repeatedly against the stool bench.

Lack of supernatural creatures prowling on the earthly ground of Beacon Hills’ forest doesn’t make Derek lose his guard. Not entirely, at least, though he never relaxes until four o’clock in the morning, where Peter wakes up, brews his coffee with cream, and that is when Derek falls asleep. It’s ironic, in a way; to know that Derek loses his guard, however little, around the person he distrusts most. But then again, having the last of your family member killed by your own uncle is also ironic, so Peter decides not to dwell on it.

The only time Peter sees Derek loses his guard _completely_ , though, around Stiles. He – well, he looks much more constipated than he usually does. He snaps more at Stiles with rough scratchy voice and manhandles the boy into things, like pushing past him against the counter or shoving him away from the sink. Grabbing Stiles by the back of his neck like a kitten then pushes him to sit on the couch like a good little boy.

And it’s entertaining, honestly. It’s entertaining to watch Stiles fluster when Derek says something, to watch the tips of Derek’s ears turn a horrible shade of pink when Stiles becomes far too uncomfortable on the couch and moaning around a plateful of pizza. The one time Peter shall never forget until he is buried again, preferably when he’s a cranky old man with a bush of white hair, is the time when Stiles swallows two fingers down his throat, licking the leftover of mozzarella around his knuckles, and Derek’s scent just... changes. _Aroused_ , so to speak.

Uh.

Point is: Derek is a big pining sap who has a crush on a smartass teenage boy who is kind of an asshole on daily basis. It really is cute at first, and Peter is not ashamed to admit it is also entertaining, the way Derek turns into a complete total dork around Stiles without Stiles’ notice.

But now, with a group of three incubuses in town, it loses a point or two in the entertaining department, especially when Stiles tells them of what their plan _should be_ to get rid of these creatures.

Not to say he’s being ungrateful of the intel Stiles provides – as it turns out, the three incubuses are aiming for male homosexual humans to have sex with, which is the reason why they thought of succubus at first, before Stiles sneaked into the morgue to find the male corpses were being penetrated instead of _penetrating_ moments before they died – but if everyone says Derek has the worst ideas? Or that most of Scott’s ideas are dumb? Then Stiles’ ideas are plain _ridiculous_. Effective, he must admit, very practical. But it endangers the life of most people in the room, the most specific one being _Derek_.

Obviously, after his ideas being rejected and they decide to use Scott’s instead, for the time being, Stiles goes home. He doesn’t look dejected, though, nor does he smell remotely _upset_ about it. Peter thinks it’s his conscience telling him his rationality is a liability to the lives around him, so he doesn’t think too much of it when Derek disappears (again) two hours after the visitation, and doesn’t come back the next day, or the day after.

Peter considers going to the Sheriff and file a missing person case like Isaac wanted. Leaving his spot on the rooftop and stepping down the staircases when Lydia barges in through the door like the queen she is, and shoves her phone to Isaac’s face.

There’s a skip of Isaac’s heartbeat. “Holy shit,” the boy squeaks, fingers scrolling against the screen of Lydia’s cherry-red iPhone. “Did Stiles just put Derek up for _prostitution_?!” Isaac shrieks as Peter promptly misses a step and nearly brains himself at the bottom of the stairs.

\--

Eight days later, after a collaboration plan of Peter, Stiles, and Lydia, Derek dumps the incubuses on top of each other behind the old Hale House while the rest of the, well, not _pack_ definitely, gathers leaves and branches around the forest. Stiles’ legs are constantly moving from where he sits near the bodies, inspecting them from the breadth of their hair down to their toes, like a child impatiently waiting to tear through their gifts during Christmas.

And everyone says _he_ is the creepy one. Human beings nowadays are so confusing.

With the branches set and the oil poured, Peter takes a moment to watch Stiles flicking the lighter to life, before setting the bodies on fire. Burning bodies in the middle of the forest is not a wise thing to do; for one, the smoke and the smell are going to alert the townspeople, thus the reason of them staying near the vicinity of the cremation taking place with buckets of cold water and three fire extinguishers.

Derek stands next to him, his face blank of any emotion, and Peter pokes his cheek with his finger. Derek’s brow twitches.

“What,” he states, low to a whisper. Peter shrugs indifferently. “Nothing, just. Prostitution, Derek? _Really_.” And Derek flushes, adorably so, his toes digging into the ground like a scolded child.

“It was a good plan,” Derek says, _insists_. His tone is oddly defensive, eyes flicking back and forth between Stiles and the fire, apparently not understanding the concept of subtlety even when it’s written on papers. Peter clamps down the feeling of fondness growing in his chest at the sight. (What? In his defence, it _is_ adorable, _shut up_.)

“If you say so,” Peter replies easily, instead of pointing out the huge giant crush Derek has on Stiles, which is obviously reciprocated, but. There’s the case of Stiles being underage, and Peter knows what a disaster it was with Derek and Kate, Kate and Derek.

Besides, what is the point of rushing? If what they have is real, not just a passing matter or simple-minded lust, a year or two isn’t going to be a problem.

Isn’t it?


End file.
